


made you pocket your pride

by havisham



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Lies, M/M, Makeup, To Say Nothing of the Dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9253130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Yuuri discovers something about Victor and makes a fateful decision.





	

It happened when Victor was applying makeup on Yuuri -- carefully, painstakingly, and with a light hand. Yuuri tried to stay still, but sometimes he fidgeted and squirmed under Victor’s grip. 

“Yuuri,” Victor warned, “you’re going to make me smudge something, and we’ll have to start over again.” 

An empty threat, Yuuri knew. But he grinned his apology and Victor grinned back, and adjusted the tilt of Yuuri’s chin. They had been at this for the whole evening, ever since Victor had hauled out his makeup case from his piles of luggage (the case was large enough to hide the body of a five year old, and there were wheels and a long handle attached to it. It made Yuuri’s own little pouch of cosmetics look like amateur hour.) 

They were experimenting on different performance looks, which Victor would snap a photo of and post to Instagram. So far they had done a dramatic, vampish look, and then fresh and virginal, and now this look -- similar to the last, but with some golden touches, on his lids and the curve of his jaws.

Victor’s phone dinged and when he checked his phone. Victor said, “Oh shit,” in a quiet voice that Yuuri nonetheless heard. Victor put the brush down and Yuuri looked up, a spike of anxiety running through him that he tried to repress. Victor was up and ransacking one of his many bags for something; he found it and went to the bathroom for a few minutes before he came out again.

“Is something wrong, Victor?” Yuuri asked. 

“Nothing’s wrong, Yuuri,” Victor said lightly. “Only I need to take my suppressant before I forget.” 

Silence ballooned between them, enormous and awkward. Yuuri knew he shouldn't stare, his mouth slightly open. Victor gave him a tight-lipped, practiced smile, one that he had never used on Yuuri before, at least not since they'd gotten to know each other. “Will this be a problem?” 

“No!” Yuuri swallowed hardly. “I'm not old fashioned like that--! Victor, you have to know I don't care.” 

“Of course not,” Victor said and smiled. Yuuri smiled back and allowed himself to relax a little more. 

Victor went back to work and paused only to drop a little kiss on the top of Yuuri’s head. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m very careful about these things.” 

Yuuri nodded. Victor would have to be. The rules for omega participation in most sports were very stringent, and the ones set out by the ISU were no exception. He wasn’t surprised that none of the media reports or any of the interviews he’d read about Victor over the years had ever disclosed Victor’s omega status. It simply wouldn’t have been discussed, even if it was known by all involved.

But Yuuri hadn’t known, despite his almost obsession with Victor’s career and his life, for the last decade and a half. Victor’s public relations machine must have been very, very good. 

And yet here he was, alone except for Yuuri, laying bare a secret that he would never have revealed to the world. 

Yuuri felt like his heart might burst with love. He wanted to prove, desperately, that Victor was right to trust him, that, really, it didn’t matter to him at all. Victor had to know that, and to know that he wasn’t alone, he never would be. So he said the fatal words, “Victor, I’m an omega too.” 

Victor’s eyes widened, his mouth open slightly in a vaguely heart-shaped way. “ _Really?_ ”

“Yes, it’s true,” Yuuri said, and began to scream internally.

(It wasn’t true.) 

*

The last picture of the night was of both Victor and himself, pressed cheek to cheek. The cheeks on their faces, that is, although Victor had suggested the other kind of cheeks in a casual yet intense manner that Yuuri still had to get used to. It was hard to refuse Victor, but the embarrassment decided him.

So, both of them were covered in glitter and little gold medals Victor had painted on their faces, trying to outdo each other by the silliness of each of their expressions. Victor captioned it with “ _Future + Present Gold!!!_ ” 

_Don’t u mean PAST_ , was Yuri Plisetsky’s instant reply, which Victor replied back to with an eyeless smiling emoji (that Yuuri tried not to think was creepy.) 

The post racked more likes and comments than anything else Victor had posted that week. 

*

“The start of the season is like the start of a love affair,” Victor said one morning. He accepted the cup of tea Yuuri handed him with a murmur of thanks and kept his eye on the pristine surface of the ice. Yuuri leaned against the side of the rink and felt like he was going to die. He realized that Victor was waiting for his response. 

“Why is the start of the season like the start of a love affair, Victor?” Yuuri said, barely able to keep the suffering from his voice. Victor had had him run through the entirety of Hasetsu before he was allowed to take a break and eat a snack. Then, it was off to the rink. 

Yuuri liked it when Victor worked him hard, loved it, in fact. His past coaches had expected the best from him, but naturally there had been a distance there. He’d never had a one-on-one coach before, and even with that, Yuuri knew that Victor was different.

“It’s like this -- look at me, Yuuri, not at the ground. I am trying to tell you -- ah, you’re laughing.” 

“I can’t help it,” Yuuri said, who was laughing, so hard that he could feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Sorry, sorry, go on.” 

“Won’t you tell me the joke?” Victor said sweetly, leaning down towards him. Yuuri sniffed the air and wondered if Yuuko had brought something in from the bakery. Something smelled like vanilla, with a touch of cardamom. 

Yuuri lifted up his head and wanted to explain himself, so Victor wouldn’t think he was being a rude, thoughtless student, except -- Yuuri kissed Victor instead. Victor’s lips felt good on his -- that expensive lip balm he used obviously worked well -- and he felt Victor sigh against him and deepen the kiss. Yuuri felt Victor’s hand tug at his hair and Yuuri moaned, so satisfied --

Victor drew away, his eyes bright. “Yuuri,” he said softly. 

“I've never had a love affair,” Yuuri said sheepishly. “That was what I was going to say.” 

Victor pushed away some hair that had fallen on Yuuri’s face. “Perhaps it's not the best metaphor.” 

“Still, you should finish it.” 

“What? Oh, right. The start of the season is like the start of a love affair -- the thrill of something new, a challenge to be tackled. But eventually you get used to it, you learn its strengths and weaknesses. Then it's like a marriage.” 

“Oh. Okay.” 

“I don't know why I used that example. Yakov used to tell me the same thing and it never made sense to me either.” 

“No, I understand it. You learn your programs so well that they'll stick with you until -- the end of the season, I guess. Is that divorce?” 

Victor grinned at him. “If you’d like.” 

*

Yuuri learned the patterns of Victor’s behavior well enough to guess around which time of the month he would go into heat, and to keep up with his lie, he also would excuse himself as well. 

It was such a stupid, pointless lie, but thanks to Yuuri’s fear and anxiety, it had taken on a life of its own. Yuuri was not unfamiliar with these monstrous kind of lies. For some years, he had allowed his parents to believe he was semi-seriously involved with with a girl from his university, whom he had (uncreatively) named Yuuko. That lie had been allowed to die a quiet death when he had left to train in Detroit. 

Sometimes his mother would ask after fake Yuuko, and Yuuri would have to pretend that he had lost contact with her since their breakup. 

Yuuri wanted to tell the truth -- to Victor, that is, not to his mother, about fake Yuuko. Every month, it was the same thing. Yuuri would say something. He would end the lie! He thought about it all the time. 

He dreamt about it. 

Victor would take his suppressant, Yuuri would get ready to casually mention that _oh yes, he wasn’t an omega after all, it had been just a misunderstanding, wasn’t that silly? Please, please, Victor, don’t leave me because I’m a horrible liar who made light of the struggle you have to go through every day, because society is stupid, I’m stupid, everything is stupid._

“So stupid! _Victor_ ,” Yuuri moaned into his pillow and then screamed when he heard Victor call his name. He went from almost-fully asleep to almost-fully awake in a few seconds. He found himself looking up at Victor, who was looking down at him. And even at that angle, with full view of the underside of his chin and his nose, Yuuri was unsurprised to learn that Victor still managed to look astonishingly beautiful.

Even his nostrils were perfect. It was insane. 

“I was going to ask if you had any extra lacing hooks,” Victor said as Yuuri blinked at him, uncomprehendingly for a moment. 

“There should be one in the covered shelf, there,” Yuuri gesturing to the wall opposite of his bed. He kept some of his spare skating equipment there. As well as -- “Wait, Victor, let me get it for you --” 

He was too late. There was a large thump, and at least sixteen years of accumulated Victor Nikiforov posters fell on Victor Nikiforov. 

*

“They make posters of paparazzi pictures?” Victor said later. He was miraculously unharmed from having Yuuri’s secret shame dumped on his head, and he sat on the floor of Yuuri’s room, shifting through the debris. He held up a poster of him on a bright street-corner, wearing a puffy black coat and looking a little distracted. Sadly, Victor said, “I didn’t get paid for this.” 

Yuuri hid his burning face in Makkachin’s fur. The dog had been attracted by the hubbub in Yuuri’s room and jumped into Yuuri’s bed, accurately guessing that no one would tell him not to do so. Yuuri wrapped his arms around the dog’s warm body and wished he could melt into the floorboards. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Yuuri said, “I swear I’m not a crazed fan who wants to murder you and wear your skin.” 

“Oh, _Yuuri_ ,” Victor said warmly. “You’ll have to keep exercising if you want to fit into my skin.” 

Yuuri smiled at him (like a idiot) and Makkachin woofed happily. 

“Anyway, it’s flattering,” Victor getting up and dusting the bottom of his robe, which swirled rather dangerously around his legs. From his first day at Yu-topia onward, Victor had chosen not to wear anything under his robe, which was something Yuuri both wished he wouldn’t do, and hoped he would always do. 

Suddenly, Victor looked suspicious. “It was you that put that picture of me in my room, wasn’t it?” 

“No. No, no,” Yuuri said. “I think it was my mother. She probably thought it was nice.” 

“It is nice,” Victor said brightly. “I love it!” 

*

On the night of the exhibition gala for the Cup of China, Yuuri was looking for Victor. His costume had come back from the tailor after being sent away that afternoon -- button had been missing when they unpacked it -- but where was Victor? 

He heard a smothered laugh and turned to see Chris, dressed in a skin tight white costume with a shimmering white fur jacket, and his arm around Victor’s waist. Yuuri thought about the long-standing rumors about Chris and Victor, mostly online, mostly online in places Yuuri would never go to and argue passionately that it wasn't true, couldn't be true. Chris was an alpha, one that never seemed to have anything to prove and that was what made him so-- 

Chris spotted him and waved. “Yuuri! You’re looking so lovely! Your costume is so familiar, but I can't quite put a finger on _why_ \--” 

Victor straightened up and pushed Chris away, his face flushed. “Don't play dumb, Chris. Doesn't it suit him?” 

“It is beautiful,” Chris said, with apparent sincerity. “You’re very lucky, to have such a tasteful master.” 

“Victor isn't my master,” Yuuri said sharply, and Victor gave him a nod of approval. Chris pouted and seemed to be on the cusp of replying when one of the PAs called Yuuri’s name. It was his five minute warning, and Yuuri and Victor left Chris and went out to the edge of the rink. 

“Don't take Chris too seriously, Yuuri, I never do,” Victor said, but Yuuri shook his head. He had almost forgotten about Chris altogether. All he felt was the enormous responsibility of getting _Stammi Vicino_ right, in front of Victor, in front of an audience for the first time. He took a hold of Victor’s hand and kissed it, on impulse. 

“Please watch me,” he said and Victor nodded, his eyes blazing. 

“I'll never let you out of my sight,” Victor said and embraced Yuuri. 

It felt so wonderful, being in Victor’s arms that Yuuri almost missed Victor’s next words. But not quite. 

“Yuuri, I know you aren't an omega. Now, go out there and show me what you are.” 

And then Victor let him go. 

*

It was perhaps not the best skate of Yuuri’s career -- which was probably a good thing, since it was for an exhibition gala -- but later write-ups would note that Yuuri’s debut of _Stammi Vicino_ was especially aching and tragic, full of unspoken sorrow. 

He tore the audience’s heart in two and left nothing for himself. 

*

They didn’t talk about it after the exhibition, or back at the hotel, or on the plane back to Japan. Yuuri spent most of the time sleeping anyway, and Victor was right beside him, either on his phone or snoring slightly, his head on Yuuri’s shoulder. 

They went back to training for the Rostelecom Cup, and after that, the Grand Prix Finale, there was so much work to do and not enough time to do it…

*

“Yuuri,” Victor said, standing at the door of Yuuri’s room. “I'm sorry to disturb you but Makkachin rolled in something at the beach and I need to wash him. Would you help me?” 

“Yes,” Yuuri said, leaving his desk, where he had been trying to figure out how he could change his jump combinations ahead of the Grand Prix Final. He had heard Victor and Makkachin leave for a walk and had longed to follow. But he had held back, feeling as though Victor would wish to have some solitude. 

“We missed you on the walk,” Victor said, as he opened up the door to the outside courtyard. Mari walked past Yuuri and handed him a bottle of liquid soap and a bucket. 

“The smell is going scare off the customers,” she told Yuuri in Japanese, but Victor still smiled apologetically at her. 

Makkachin was waiting for them outside, and Mari was right, the smell was appalling. It was like an interesting combination of dead fish and rotten seaweed, and naturally, wet dog. Makkachin’s fur had turned grey from his head downwards, but he perked up when he saw both and began to make a bee-line for them. 

“Makkachin, sit!” Victor said sharply, and Makkachin obeyed with only a little whine. It was a sunny day, almost warm, but they worked quickly. Yuuri untangled the hose and made sure the spray-nozzle was still working. 

Usually, a dog-groomer would come from the city to take care of Makkachin, but Victor seemed to know what to do as well. Yuuri was only expected to hold the hose and point it where Victor wanted to go, while Victor washed out the mud from Makkachin’s fur, carefully and with obvious love. 

Watching him, Yuuri felt a tinge of sadness for poor Vicchan. Vicchan had been small enough that Yuuri could wash him in the kitchen sink, if he had wanted too -- it had been so fun to take him out of the sink and roll him tightly in a fluffy towel. 

Yuuri felt a jet of water hit his face and trickle went down his neck. Yuuri blinked and saw both Victor and Makkachin gave him an innocent look, but only one (furry) face seemed to mean it. 

But Yuuri could play that game -- he turned the hose towards Victor, making a dark slash across his chest. Victor made a noise between a hiss and laugh and tackled Yuuri, making the hose go wild. Makkachin jumped on them, getting soap suds everywhere. 

Yuuri and Victor wrestled a bit on the ground, Yuuri laughing until he noticed that, despite the cold and the wet, he was hard against Victor’s thigh. He froze, hoping Victor would not notice, which meant that Victor noticed immediately. 

“Yuuri,” he said, looking down at him and smiling. “Makkachin will get cold.”

“I-- yes,” Yuuri said, dazed. 

They finished washing Makkachin and wrapped him up in a big towel, shepherding him inside where Victor could dry off his fur with a hair dryer. Yuuri went to change his wet clothes and his stomach started to grumble, demanding to be filled. 

He barely spoke his family or Victor at dinner, but his parents and Mari at least were used to it. Yuuri, who was not very social at the best of times, clammed up tight in between competitions. Only Makkachin, clean-smelling now and his head resting on Yuuri’s lap, seemed content with Yuuri. 

Victor kept looking at him. He wanted to talk, Yuuri could tell. And Yuuri could do that -- he could talk to Victor. He owed him that, at least. 

*

“I’m an idiot,” Yuuri said, as soon Victor closed the door to his room. He wanted Victor to envelop him in his arms, to tell him that yes, he was, but that Victor loved him anyway. And it did seem -- Victor seemed to be physically holding himself back from doing so. He was a world-champion figure skater, used to expressing emotions with his body, and letting the audience read every line of it. 

“I wanted you to know that I understood you, that I was with you,” Yuuri continued on, sitting on his bed. “But I ruined it, I lied. You must hate me.” 

“Yuuri, you know I could never hate you,” Victor said, coming toward him. He put a hand on Yuuri’s burning face, a cool touch that Yuuri leaned in towards. 

“But you said --” Yuuri said. “You knew I was lying.” 

“Yes. I’m older than you, Yuuri, but it doesn’t take much to recognize an unclaimed alpha.” 

“Unclaimed…?” 

“Of course!” Victor leaned down and kissed him. “Would you like me to claim you, Yuuri?” 

“Victor, I think you might be getting the rules of this world a little wr--” 

“I know what I’m doing, Yuuri,” Victor said, his eyes ablaze. “If you’d take a hold of your pride for a moment --” 

His pride? Did Victor really think he was so proud? Was he? 

Maybe a little… 

Yuuri’s mouth went dry, his glasses fogged up, so he took them off and placed them carefully out of the way. Dreamily, he said, “All right. Yeah.” 

Victor was naked very, very quickly -- Yuuri almost had whiplash watching him. Then again, he was also scrambling to get rid of his clothes, anxious as he was to have Victor touch him, to drive him mad. 

If Victor could do this to him now, imagine how it would be if he was in heat. Yuuri felt a flush of something hot travel down his spine. Victor shuddered, his fingers digging into the flesh of Yuuri’s shoulder. “Maybe when I’m retired, I’ll go off those suppressants and we can --” 

“If you want to,” Yuuri said quickly, and blinked when Victor began to laugh. Laugh hard, rocking against Yuuri, getting the side of Yuuri’s neck wet. 

“You know I can’t -- I can’t give you a baby, Yuuri. I’m a dried up old omega, and even in my best days…” 

“Fuck that,” Yuuri said with sudden passion. “I care about you, not something stupidly biological impulse to fuck and ruin.” 

“I think it’s actually about procreation, but I take your point.” Victor kissed him, carefully, on the forehead. “All right. Yuuri, I’m ready for you to ravish me, take my innocence, like a virgin omega touched for the very first time.” 

“Okay,” Yuuri said. “This is not weird.” 

Victor threw up his hands in shock. “Yuuri! Why would I make it weird? Have I ever?” 

Yuuri considered answering him, but ultimately decided against it. 

Why ruin such bliss? 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta, Sath. 
> 
> Title from Betty Davis' "Anti-Love Song."


End file.
